Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
by alienoctopus
Summary: Two years after the final battle, Fred wakes up from his coma. He is terrified. He finds comfort and understanding in Harry and Hermione, who still suffer night terrors from their time in the war. Can they help each other heal old and new wounds?
1. Grief Thief of Time

**Here's a Fremione story. It'll warm your hearts at some point.** **This is just the first chapter. It's short. Introduces the ideas.** **I've been doing well with** **Yes, And** **, but I'm getting a bit of writer's block with it and decided to take a break. This is going to be about ten chapters long, maybe less depending on where my chapter breaks are. I'm hoping to have the whole story posted by the end of the week.** **Thanks for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting!** **-alienoctopus**

Hermione Granger rummaged though the cupboard, looking for tea.

She found loads of it, actually, but it was chamomile tea. Hermione _hated_ chamomile.

But it was three in the morning and she needed something to help her fall back asleep.

It was two years after the Battle of Hogwarts, and she was still having sleepless nights.

She and Ron had moved in with each other almost immediately.

Both of them would wake up in the middle of the night from terrible dreams. They couldn't shake the feeling of being hunted, despite being perfectly safe.

Every night, they would sit in the kitchen. Ron would drink chamomile tea and Hermione would drink peppermint.

Some nights, they would talk about work. How Hermione quickly rose in the Ministry. How Ron did in Auror training.

Other nights, they talked about the war.

Usually, it was the same sort of thing. How Hermione felt when Ron left. How Ron eventually found them. How scared they were throughout the whole thing.

But then one day, about six months ago, things changed. Ron didn't wake up in the middle of the night anymore. His supply of chamomile tea stayed full while Hermione drank peppermint by the liter. She had asked Ron to pick up some more tea on the way home. Each time, he bought chamomile.

Hermione was lonely when she was awake in the kitchen, choking down that disgusting tea. Rom was sleeping peacefully.

She was happy for him. He had found a way to escape the nightmares. But she couldn't.

There was a creak in the floorboard.

Constant vigilance.

Hermione had her wand at the ready, pointed at the sound.

"Hermione, are you awake again?" Her boyfriend's voice filled the room.

"It's just you." She sighed with relief.

"Who else would it be?" He asked.

"I don't know!" She exclaimed. Hermione felt like she should be running. For the longest time, Ron had felt the same. She felt safer knowing that the two of them could protect each other. But now she felt alone. "Don't you get this fear that someone's waiting for us?"

"'Mione, the war was two years ago. It was hard to get over. But I did it. I accepted that we're safe now. Nothing's going to happen." Ron said. He embraced her. "Stop this and come to bed, please?" He asked. Hermione nodded and followed him back upstairs.

Ron found sleep quickly. But Hermione was awake all night, her wand at her side.

-0-

The next day, all of the Weasleys had lunch at the Burrow.

Once a month, the family had a lunch without everyone who wasn't blood related. Though they loved Harry and Hermione, and even Fleur, after the war they realized that they needed to stay close as a family.

"Harry is the same way, too." Ginny said. Ron had just told everyone his problems with Hermione waking up every night. "It's not each night, but sometimes he'll sleepwalk. He tried to disarm a vase last week."

"It's like clockwork, really," Ron explained, "every morning at three, Hermione wakes up, rummages through the cupboards, tries to stun me, then goes back to sleep. Sometimes, she just lies there and stares out the window. Never lets go of her wand."

Ron and Ginny shared their stories of their significant others. Sometimes, Bill or Percy would chime in with a thought, but it never helped.

But the entire time, Fred just stared at them.

George looked worriedly at his twin. Fred had been undergoing similar experiences to Harry and Hermione. He hoped Fred would say something to his younger siblings. But he just stared.

Most of the Weasley's went back to their homes after lunch, save for Charlie, Ron, and Ginny. Fred and George were ready to Floo back to their flat.

"You go first." George offered Fred. He went.

Before following suit, George went to Ron and Ginny.

"Fred wanders in the night, too." He said. "We should get the three of them together." He nodded curtly and then went into the fire.


	2. Unluckily For A Death

**I like a good bit of Ron-bashing in Fremione stories. But I couldn't do it. I'm trying to do him some justice.** **Thanks for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following!  
-alienoctopus**

Chapter Two

Ginny Weasley was having a good dream. She often did in the beginning of the night. She fell asleep hoping she would not have to wake up until a proper time the next morning.

She was running through the garden back at the Burrow. No gnomes in sight. The sun made everything bright and highly contrasted. The grass was the greenest it had ever been. Ginny could feel the dew in between her toes.

Harry was chasing her. Though he was taller, Ginny could easily outrun him. It felt as if her legs could stretch the length of the garden in a single stride.  
But she let him catch her. He may have caught her, but she brought him down to the ground. They laughed. They rolled around a bit. Harry kisses her head and held her close. His skin was warm from the sun.

They lay in the grass. It felt clean. Harry played with a strand of Ginny's hair. She curled up at his side. Her head was on his chest. She could feel his heart beat.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

It was calm. Peaceful. Steady and relaxed. Something Ginny always wanted Harry to be. She had never known him to be calm, peaceful, or relaxed. Harry was always on edge with his wand at the ready. As if he was always on the run. She wished he would realize they were safe. That she loved him and everything from there on out would be wonderful.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. CRASH.

Ginny was wide awake. The crash wasn't Harry's heart. It was his doing, however. And she knew exactly what happened. She got out of bed and put on her slippers to protect her feet from the cold floor.

She just wanted one night where she did not have to wake up in the middle of a nice dream.

"I'm sorry." Harry said when she walked into their sitting room.  
"We should get rid of that vase." She said.  
It was a housewarming gift from Ron and Hermione. A beautiful emerald vase that was half of Ginny's size. It reminded her of Harry's eyes. She figured that's why Hermione and Ron bought it for them.  
"Are you all right?" She asked quietly.  
"Yeah. Yeah." Harry answered. His breath was shallow. "I just... I thought someone was there."  
"I know." Ginny said sadly. She wished she could take all of Harry's fear from him and break it like the vase. Which reminded her, "Reparo." The vase fixed itself.  
"I'm sorry." Harry said again.  
Ginny smiled at him. "Let's try and get some sleep." She took his hand. Not to guide him back to bed but to comfort him.

They got back to the bedroom. Harry was shaking. After he laid down, she positioned herself on him like she was in her dream.

But she didn't not hear the same calm heartbeat. It was rapid. She got off his chest and put her head on her own pillow. It was cool to the touch.

She fell asleep quickly. Unfortunately, her dream from earlier did not return. All she dreamt about now was playing Quidditch, which is rather boring to dream about when one plays Quidditch for a living and would have to go to practice the next day.

Harry noticed her movement, but ignored it. He let her fall asleep as he stared at the ceiling until dawn.

He felt terrible. He felt terrible when this happened the first time. He felt terrible when it happened the hundredth time.  
He felt terrible that night, and last night, and he'll feel terrible tomorrow night, too.

He wanted so much for things to get better. But everyone else seemed to be moving on. He was the only one stuck with the nightmares.

He wanted to talk about everything's with someone. He wanted to talk about the war. How every night he dreamt that Voldemort was in his head. That despite his scar not hurting anymore, he still rushed his hand to clasp his forehead, waiting for the stinging pain to come back. He would sleepwalk most nights and attack the furniture. For the last two months, it was the vase. Before that, the end table. Even the kettle set him off.

He didn't want to talk to Ginny about it anymore. She was done with it. He was not. Harry felt that he did not have a proper place in the world now that everything had settled. He was not meant for a time of peace.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had warned Harry several times that he was being too severe with criminals. Harry did not mean to be. But every time someone did something wicked or even just looked at him strange, he reacted as if they were a Death Eater.

Even when they were trying to recover the remaining Death Eaters he was too forceful. Luckily Ron had been with him a few times, because Harry would have killed them.  
Harry felt guilty. Everyone wanted to move on and make a better world, but he was stuck in the past. He was stuck with not trusting anyone and wanting to do things on his own. Everyone else- Ron, Ginny, the Ministry- wanted that better world. They were ready for it. But Harry was cursed with the inability to ever be normal. When the world wasn't ready for war, he had to be. When the darkest wizard of all time wanted one person dead, it was him. When Voldemort defeated and the Wizarding world began to recover, he was unable to move in with them.

When the morning light began to fill the room, Harry uneasily fell back asleep. He tossed and turned and sweat. He dreamt of Voldemort's eyes. He dreamed of Nagini killing Severus Snape. He dreamt of Hedwig falling out of the sky. He could not believe that in the morning, he would go to work, and come home to his loving fiancé.  
-0-

Harry made breakfast the next morning. Nothing much. Only some eggs and toast. He put out the orange marmalade, which he knew was Ginny's favorite. He brewed a pot of tea and called Ginny for breakfast.

"I'm sorry about last night." He said. This was his routine. He would make breakfast. He would apologize. Ginny would say the same thing every time.

"I wish I could help you." She said.

"I do, too." Harry admitted.  
He ate breakfast quickly. "I've got to get to work. I meant to close a case file last night but never finished the paper work."

"Good luck at work, Harry. Don't get into too much trouble." Ginny warned playfully.

"Don't get hurt at practice," he smiled. It was nice for Ginny to see him smile. "I love you." He gave her a peck on the lips.

"Love you, too." Ginny said. With a crack, he was gone.

Ginny let out a loud sigh. She was worried. She had been worried since she and Harry moved in together. She remembered her conversation with Ron. Hermione had been going through a similar thing. She decided to write to Ron. Perhaps Harry and Hermione could help each other figure out their problems.

-0-

Ron was enjoying breakfast by himself. He had put in a few extra hours in the Aurors' office and figured he could treat himself to a late morning. The extra sleep did him good- it was another late night. Hermione woke up screaming and flailing. He tried to comfort her, but nothing seemed to work.

Hermione was already at work and he figured he could help himself to an extra piece of jam and toast when an owl swooped in through the open window. Ron knew the owl was Harry and Ginny's. He took the letter off its legs, fed it a few spare treats, and sent it on its way. Anything the letter said, Ron could give Harry his response to at work. He opened it.

 _Ron,_  
 _Harry had another bad night last night. He keeps sending curses to that vase you and Hermione got us. Don't worry, it's repaired already._  
 _I don't know how long I can do this for. I love Harry, but my patience is wearing thin._  
 _I remember you said Hermione's been doing similar things. They should talk about this together. Maybe it will help. Nothing I do seems to._  
 _Love, Ginny_

Ron folded and pocketed Ginny's letter. Though he felt bad for his best friend, he was glad Ginny's patience was worn. His was, too, and he felt guilty as all hell because of it.

He cleaned up and went to work.

"How was your morning off?" Harry asked Ron while they were getting ready to leave at the end of the day.

"It was nice to get some extra sleep."

Harry grinned, but Ron could tell it wasn't genuine.

"Ginny wrote me this morning, actually."

"She did? I don't remember her sending out any post."

"It was probably after you left. She said you had a bad night last night."

"It happens." Harry said.

"She said it happens quite a bit, actually."

Harry wanted so hard to argue and deny, but he knew he couldn't.

"She and I reckon you and Hermione should talk about it sometime."

"I talk to Hermione plenty." Harry said.

"No, about this. She's going through the same thing."

"Maybe if you and Ginny were a bit more-"

"-a bit more what, Harry? Does Ginny not wake up to you every night? Does she not try to help you? I know for bloody sure she does."

"Maybe if the both of you didn't just forget about everything that happened! People died- I died!" Harry yelled. "But everyone else returns to a normal life. I can't do that. I can't give up what happened. I can't pretend it can't happen again. Maybe if you actually thought about it for another moment, you'd be bothered, too."

Ron was seething. How could anyone accuse him of forgetting about the war? He could have lost his whole family. Everything.

Just because he was coming to terms with their new reality doesn't mean he didn't suffer alongside his friends. It didn't mean he was fine in the months after the war.

Harry might have been the center of attention two years ago. He may have had to sacrifice a lot. But he was not the only one. He had no right to think so. Not anymore. Ron wasn't going to listen to it.

"You're bloody right, Harry. I was never affected by anything. Everything is fine for everyone else but you. Just do me a favor, talk to Hermione."

Harry tossed some papers at Ron.  
"Sod off." He said before he Disapparated back home.

That went well, Ron thought bitterly, maybe Hermione will listen. The last thing he wanted was to make Harry angry. He had to hope that this would help. He had to hope things would get better.


	3. When I Woke

**Sorry this took me a few days longer than I had hoped to post. The end of this chapter is pretty weak, but I really love some bits in here.** **How are you guys liking this story? Anything you want to happen in it? Anything I should add or change?** **Thanks for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting!** **-alienoctopus**

George Weasley has not had proper sleep in over two years—no, even longer. Three years. _Three years_ of wretched sleep.

All this time, he had figured that he would finally be at ease when Fred woke up.

The second war was, as war tends to be, difficult for everyone. The twins and their trusted colleagues and friends (Lee Jordon and Kingsley Shacklebolt, to name two) made it their duty to inform those on their side about what was really going on in the world.

Though it was a service for everyone—Hogwarts students, worried parents, distant family members—the twins had started Potterwatch for Ron. They wanted a way to let Ron know everyone was all right.

And so it began. They had to find safe spaces to de their broadcast. Though most of their guests on the broadcast were safe, the twins knew it would be obvious they were hosting Potterwatch. They knew they would eventually be on the wrong end of a wand.

They didn't care. So long as they were with each other, they could take on the world.

Mrs. Weasley had told them stories of their uncles Gideon and Fabian. They were twins, too. They had died heroically in the first Wizard war. They had taken down as many Death Eaters as possible before they were killed.

Fred and George were not going to die without causing as much havoc as possible for the Death Eaters. And they were terrified.

They would stay up together and talk about what would happen when Harry finally took care of Voldemort. There was no question that that was how things would end. To the twins, that was the only way. There was no other option.

The final battle came. George couldn't fight his excitement—finally, it would all be over. He and Fred could sleep at last.

But, of course, that is not how things always work.

A wall had collapsed on Fred. Everyone thought him dead. Luckily, George could still feel his breathing. He did not yet feel like something was missing. Fred was alive, but he was in a coma.

George found himself at St. Mungo's for hours a day. He would have to brew sleeping draughts for himself most nights just to get himself to close his eyes for a bit.

"You wanker, you finally get some rest and here I am all up in arms because of it."

It broke the hearts of many witches and wizards to only see one half of the rambunctious and always vividly colored Weasley twins.

It was even worse for them to see how terribly it affected him.

A year into what would come to be known as the worst time in George's life, something he did not expect happened.

Ron had showed up at the hospital while he was there.

It wasn't unusual for George to run into members of his family there. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there almost as much as George was. Percy visited once or twice a week. Ginny would come every once in a while, but she usually brought Harry along.

That's when Ron would show up. With Harry and Ginny, and most of the time with Hermione in tow.

Ginny would come see Fred on her own, but not often. Harry had always made it a point to go one Sunday every month by himself. Even Hermione would pop in with fresh flowers—why she did, George would never know. The mediwitches would charm the flowers to stay alive for ages—but she would come with flowers.

She would toss out the old ones, though they were still fresh, and she always managed to bring the brightest colored flowers. Once, she brought one that would burst into flames when someone would smell it! George thought they were brilliant.

Unlike Fred's other visitors, Hermione never asked George if any progress had been made. She came in, banished the old flowers and replaced them, then look at that chart at the foot of Fred's bed.

"His vitals are rather normal. That's a rather good thing, don't you think?"

George never responded.

"That way, when he wakes up, he should be healthy. And with the potions he is administered, there will be no muscle atrophy."

"Any way that chart says when he'll wake up, then?" George would ask bitterly. He would always later feel bad for snapping at Hermione.

"There's no possible way to tell."

Hermione would leave. George liked that she wasn't sad or sympathetic. She came in, checked up on Fred, and then she would go.

When she would come with Ron, she always tried to check in on George, as well. But everyone in his family did that enough.

But Ron was there without her—without anyone. He pulled a chair next to George and sat there for what seemed like hours, and never spoke a word.

It had irritated George. "What do you _want_?" He asked his younger brother angrily.

"I wanted to be with my brothers." Ron said. His voice hinted at no specific emotion.

"Well, all right, then." George allowed.

Though George thought that Ron was still a prat, his now more frequent visits to Fred eased him a bit. He talked to Ron—really said what he was feeling. He cried at some points. Ron just listened. Ron told him details about being on the run with Harry and Hermione. He told him how hard every night had become. The three of them had horrific night terrors.

"Hermione and I might actually end up killing each other in our sleep." He once said.

A few months went by. All the visits kept up, including Ron coming alone. He mentioned his sleep was getting better, though Hermione was still the same. He reckoned talking with George made things settle in his brain a little better.

He wished Hermione could do the same. He could only listen to he recount their worst nights so often.

But, besides Ron's improved manner, nothing changed. Fred would lie there, breathing quietly. Everyone visited at their usual times. Hermione would bring flowers. Ron would sit with George and they would talk.

Until, one day—a day that started no different, Ron was next to George asking if he needed help in the shop, and George was accepting more help—there was movement. No one noticed it. How could they? It was the slightest bit. But George felt it.

"Hold on," he said to Ron, "What was that?"

"What?"

"Watch." George was watching his twin intently. Ron followed George's sightline to Fred's face, specifically, his eyes. But Ron saw nothing different. George grinned wildly. He leaned over to whisper in Ron's ear. It was nearly inaudible. Ron smiled like mad.

"I guess I was wrong." George said, a little louder than he usually spoke.

"I suppose I should get home. See you, George." Ron departed.

George remained seated for twenty more minutes, staring at Fred's face, still grinning.

"What's wrong? What's Ron going on about, George?!" His mother screamed as she burst into the room. The entire Weasley family was with them, worried looks on their faces.

"George, tell us right this instant—"

"—Glad you asked, mother." George said. "It's been about two years, and if I know Fred—and I like to think I know him as well as I know myself—he would have woken up by now. He wouldn't lie there for this long. So, as his twin, I have decided to put an end to this. We should no longer have to watch our beloved Fred suffer."

"But he's not suffering!" Hermione shouted.

"Any moment he isn't playing a joke is suffering." George said plainly. "I wanted us all here to say goodbye."

"All right, all right, I'm up, you arse!" A voice yelled.

Everyone in the room stood there in shock, except for George and Ron.

"Fred?" Mrs. Weasley asked timidly.

Fred blinked a few times. "Hey, Mum." He greeted. Before he could get the words out properly, Mrs. Weasley had him in the tightest hug he had ever experienced.

"I _knew_ you were awake." George said.

"How?"

"I saw your eye twitch. I was wondering how long you'd fake your coma. Twenty minutes by my count."

"Felt like ages."

-0-

When Fred woke from his coma, George was the happiest he had ever been.

For about a day, at least.

Nights became hell. Fred would scream impossibly loud—reliving the moment where he thought he had died.

Fred would angrily throw himself around his room. He would curse things, break things, he would scream. George had no idea how to help.

He was sure, by then, that everyone had gotten over the war. He knew for sure Ron was better, and thought Harry and Hermione were, too.

Fred was not himself in the day, either. He was distant. He still experienced the fear of getting caught by Death Eaters or losing a loved one as if it were still happening around him.

George needed to find help.


	4. Especially When the October Wind

**Finally! I'm sorry. I just got around to outlining this story again and am happy to publish this next chapter. Though I have things somewhat in order for this and my other stories, I also have a pretty demanding internship and am graduating by the summer. So, like many of you and other writers, I have a lot on my plate. I'll do my best to keep my work going here, but no promises.** **I hate that** **Thank you all for being supportive readers. 3** **Please enjoy reading, and don't forget to follow/favorite/review!** **Thanks.** **-alienoctopus**

It was the beginning of winter. Cold winds started blowing faster than winter robes could sell. A loud pop could be heard in the middle of Hogsmeade.

Fred Weasley appeared and already regretted Apparating into the street rather than into the bar. Perhaps it was a better decision than being inside. He would be able to leave and no one would know he had been there.

He stared through the window of the Three Broomsticks, not allowing himself access to the warmth within. It was rather empty, it being a Tuesday afternoon, and Harry and Hermione were huddled together in the middle of the bar. Their mouths moved rapidly, sometimes Hermione would frantically move her hands and Harry would push his hair back. Even through the window, Fred could see the lightening bolt scar. He wondered if it still caused Harry pain.

A breeze cut through Fred's robes, instantly chilling his bones. He decided he should actually go inside rather than watch Harry and Hermione through the foggy window.

His steps were reluctant. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He wanted to go home and sleep. He fiddled with his wand, but continued to walk inside the bar. George had made him promise. He had to do this for George.

"Hullo, Fred." Harry greeted upon seeing the familiar face. Fred didn't understand how someone who had suffered so much could be so warm and welcoming. "Could I get you a butterbeer?" He offered.

"I'll take a firewhisky, if you don't mind." Fred answered. Hermione gave him a pointed look and he felt her disapproval course through his veins but couldn't bring himself to care about her judgment.

"Sure." Harry motioned for Madam Rosmerta and she shuffled over. "Two firewhiskies and a warm butterbeer." He ordered.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded. "You've got to go back to work."

"I have a feeling I'm not going to want to go back into the office today, 'Mione." Harry said.

Hermione pursed her lips and shot Harry the same look she gave Fred, yet it was softer. She allowed Harry this one without further argument. Hermione never conceded to anyone, but perhaps Harry was where she cut some slack.

Madam Rosmerta put the drinks on the table and went back to behind the bar. Hermione reached across the small round table for her drink.

"Here." Fred said, handing it to her so she didn't have to reach and grab.

"Thanks, Fred." She smiled at him. It felt as warm as Harry's greeting.

Harry and Hermione sat close, Fred noticed—not intertwined like a couple would sit, but close enough that they were touching in way that only people who know the depths of each other would. Like he would with George.

Hermione took a small sip of her butterbeer and licked her lips. Harry laughed and took a timid sip of his firewhisky. He winced, but savored the taste. He liked the drink, but could not get over the burning sensation that trailed down from the tip of his tongue right down to his stomach. Fred took a sip—slowly at first, like Harry—but once he felt the familiar feeling, he gulped it down. He almost slammed the glass down on the table, making Hermione jump. He licked his lips and motioned again for Madam Rosmerta to bring him another drink.

Hermione began to scold him—no one should be drinking in the middle of the afternoon—but Harry grasped her upper arm and she stopped herself.

"So why has my dear twin sent me to see you two?" Fred asked.

"Er—" Harry started, but Hermione gently interrupted.

"He figures it would be easier for you to transition back if you talk to people who are, well, sort of going through similar emotions."

"I'll bloody transition him." Fred slammed on the table. Harry and Hermione immediately stood up with their wands out. Fred didn't notice when, but one of them had already disarmed him. Hermione's hand was shaking violently as she held it in his direction.

"Wands away, wands away!" Madam Rosmerta shouted. "I'll have no dueling in here. You can go over to the Hog's Head for that."

The pair seemed to calm down at Rosmerta's voice.

"I'm sorry, Fred." Hermione was the first to speak. She handed Fred his wand back.

"Is it loud noises for you both, then?" Fred asked. His voice was quiet, and although he spoke with understanding, it still was a bit rude.

"Loud noises, shadows, strangers, people slamming on tables—"

"Nightmares." Hermione added to Harry's list.

"I get nightmares, too." Fred admitted. "I sleep with the light on."

The three sat in the rough silence of the bar. Six goblins could be heard arguing at a different table. Madam Rosmerta's heels clinked against the floor. Harry's breathing was heavy and erratic. Hermione kept staring at Fred, who refused to look up from his hand still on the table.

"What happened?" Fred asked.

Harry and Hermione told him everything they could, from everyone believing Fred was dead, everyone believing Harry was dead—"Are we sure You-Know-Who is dead, then?" Fred joked. Hermione gave him a horrified, angry look. He shut up. Harry talked about Ginny's growing frustrations and worries. How he wakes up in the middle of the night and trashes the home he and Ginny were trying to build. How Ginny was now considering ending their engagement because she could not live in the past any longer.

Hermione interrupted him there. "Ginny never told me that."

"She's mentioned it a few times." Harry said. "I think she's told Ron, too."

The news awakened a deep-seated fear in Hermione—a fear almost greater than her everyday ones. What is Ron was thinking the same thing?

But Hermione only nodded and let Harry continue to talk until the conversation got lighter, and the three had a little more to drink than intended. She told Fred how George and Angelina both refuse to admit their feelings for each other.

"Guilt, I think." Hermione said when Fred asked about his brother's love life. "Angelina's last boyfriend was, well, you, and you really only just came out of a comatose state. Neither of them wanted to…" Hermione paused, trying to figure out how she was going to word what she was going to say next.

"It would have been weird." Harry finished for her.

Fred understood, but felt guilty. George should be happy. George didn't need to suffer because he was suffering. Harry changed the subject.

"Malawi won, which was an upset. Everyone thought Senegal had the cup. George wasn't surprised—he was able to predict the match so well that we all thought he was a Seer."

"Yes, it was very funny. I loved when he said I would be promoted if I wore a specific red bow to work." Hermione said bitterly.

"You don't even believe in Seeing, yet you still did it."

"Because I thought there was no harm!"

"What happened with the bow?" Fred asked.

"Everyone was shocked that he knew exactly how the World Cup would turn out—"

"—Which shouldn't have been that surprising considering you both bet on the outcome of the last World Cup accurately, as well." Hermione chimed in.

"But no one did," Harry continued, "So George kept making predictions. He told me that something I had broken dozens of times would soon not be able to be repaired. The next day, I broke my glasses and when I tried to fix them, they shook a bit and stayed broken. He told Ron that his pockets would soon be heavy. Ron found a hundred galleons a few days later. George kept on telling everyone things would happen and then suddenly, those things happened."

Fred chuckled. "What about the bow, then?"

"I didn't believe anything he said until what happened with your mum. George told her that something she thought was lost would be found. It was a general prediction—people lose things all the time and suddenly find them. But she was cleaning a cauldron one day when—"

"—A wand appeared? Her first wand, the one she thought was lost forever?" Fred asked.

"Not you, too!" Hermione said.

"George and I stole that wand when we were little. We used it all the time. Mum thought it was lost and we let her think that. We always talked about giving it back to her one day."

"Ron and I were considering buying a house. So when I learned of George's prediction of what happened to your mum, I thought there would be no harm in trying. One day, before work, I put a red bow that I never remember owning before in my hair. It looked nice, but reminded me a little too much of Umbridge for me to ever wear my hair like that again. I went into work feeling lucky—as if I would get that promotion and we'd be able to afford a house. I didn't notice everyone looking at me strangely until I met Harry and Ron for lunch, who were kind enough to tell me that there was a bird in my hair that squawked at everyone when I passed them by."

Fred could feel the anger in Hermione's voice, but couldn't keep from laughing. Harry joined in, forcing Hermione to spare a chuckle, as well.


	5. When, Like a Running Grave

_Harry,_

 _Fred slept all right the day he met with you and Hermione. But now he's been going into a mad shock every time he finds something new—which seems to happen a lot when you've been in a coma. Who would have guessed?_

 _Every time I tell him something, he gets pretty violent. Maybe you and Hermione could have a nice little chat with him again?_

 _Thanks._

 _George_

Harry read the letter a few more times before he tossed it in the rubbish during a fit of laughter. As if he and Hermione could fix Fred! They were both as messed up as he was.

At least Fred had more reason to be. From what Harry knew, Angelina was at the twins' flat more often than not. Fred did not know how a world where they weren't angry at each other would work (George always said it was a rough break, and the sharp tongues of the both of them did not help make things easier). Everything Fred knew was still before the war. Harry couldn't imagine what that was like.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Ginny asked, sitting down at the kitchen table with him. Harry looked at her. She was positively beautiful. Her dark almond eyes shone with warmth. Everything about her was brighter now that she had decorated Grimmauld Place. Lively greens and blues and reds found their way into the old home. The painting of Sirius's mum had finally been shut up once she knew the Black line had died out.

Harry ran to Grimmauld Place as soon as the battle had finished. He sat through all the funerals, went to Ministry press conferences, all within no time after defeating Voldemort. He ran and hid in the old headquarters—all Harry could think about was Sirius in the house. Harry refused to leave. He didn't want to see or talk to anyone. He thought about Sirius cooped up in this place where he used to belong. In this place where everything he stood against lived. It was those cramped feelings that still lingered from Sirius that got Harry out of Grimmauld Place. He went to the Burrow to receive a bone-crushing hug from Mrs. Weasley. Harry cried. No one else was around. Mrs. Weasley didn't tell anyone.

She had made him a nice cup of tea and offered for him to stay for dinner. "It would just be you, me, and Arthur, but I don't think you'd mind." She said. Harry didn't even get to answer before she had enlisted his help in making the Yorkshire pudding. "All you have to do is get the running into the pudding." Mrs. Weasley advised as she put a prime rib out on a cutting board. "Arthur will be home any minute."

The three sat and ate the delicious prime rib Mrs. Weasley made, and the runny Yorkshire puddings that Harry had put _all_ of the drippings in. Harry said very little, but Mr. Weasley was very excited to tell him about the changes in the Ministry since Kingsley Shacklebolt became Minister. Mrs. Weasley told Harry of everything else he was missing—Hermione and Ron finally giving in to each other, Ginny going back to Hogwarts with Hermione, Percy reuniting with the family, George was almost done with the shop, and Fred, well, alive. Harry was shocked he had missed so much. He had no idea how long he kept himself in Grimmauld Place, but it was clearly too long. Everyone seemed to be surviving just fine without the Boy Who Lived.

It was Neville that found Harry standing at the Astronomy Tower. Both were volunteers in the clean up of Hogwarts, which was going to take time despite using magic. The volunteers would have to weave through students and restore Hogwarts to its former glory. Harry and Ron volunteered, mostly as a reason to see Hermione and Ginny regularly, as they returned for their final year. Harry felt lost in the castle he had spent the best years so far of his life in. Every stone seemed to mark someone's death.

Harry felt purposeless in a world without Lord Voldemort. He felt guilty to have caused this to happen to Hogwarts.

He peered down at the grounds from the tower, his heart leaping when he looked at the exact spot Dumbledore had fallen to. All he had to do was take one step…

"Harry!" Neville's voice pulled Harry back. "Harry, what are you doing up here?"

"This is where Dumbledore died." Harry said.

"This is where a lot of people died, Harry. What happened wasn't just about one person. Not V-Voldemort. Not Dumbledore. Not even you. It was about the school. It was about everyone."

Harry nodded, but didn't listen. His thoughts were still lost in the grounds.

"Come on, now. How are we going to fix Hogwarts without you?" Neville gave Harry a friendly slap on the forearm. Harry nodded and followed his friend so ground level. Neville never told anyone.

-0-

Fred was starting to manage a little better. He could work again.

He walked around Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the familiar magenta robes trailing at his feet. He couldn't get used to the fast pace again. He found himself losing focus—as if he were asleep and awake at the same time. George would be there within moments, snapping him out of his private delusions. But George would have to leave to help a customer because Merlin knew Fred couldn't. It was lucky Fred was there.

Something was buzzing around Fred's ears. He turned and turned but couldn't find the source of the sound. He bumped into customers. His peripheral vision was failing. Fred could only see what was directly in front of him. Customers looked on at the flailing man, only seeing a whirlwind of Weasley red and magenta. Fred called out for his twin, but when he felt George's hands attempt to restrain him, Fred lashed out. He sent out hexes and curses, causing the customers to run out of the store, some screaming, and most bewildered.

George stood over the figure of his brother, who was now passed out amongst the crashed displays and broken products. Fred's own hands scratched his face. He breathed deeply, but did not open his eyes. George was immediately transported back to when he would sit at his twin's bedside for hours on end, hoping to Merlin he would wake up again.

-0-

Fred sat in the Three Broomsticks. George hadn't really spoken to him since the incident the week before. Harry and Hermione had agreed to meet him there once again, and this time, Fred was early. It was rather busy for a Thursday, or at least it seemed so to him. Patrons would give him deep, studying looks, or see him and immediately point at him to their friends, trying not to be noticeable about it. But Fred noticed. In front of him was a copy of that week's Witch Weekly, opened to a brief article titled: "Weasley's Wizard Welter." It described Fred's episode, ending with, "Is the once fun-loving wizard safe to work again?" The pulsating title made Fred angry.

He was so relieved when Harry and Hermione arrived that he didn't noticed the handful of papers Hermione brought with her. He was happy there were people in the bar that wouldn't look at him with such judgment. Hermione went to get a few drinks and Harry sat with Fred. "Is this what it was like for you?" He asked.

"Worse, believe it or not." Harry answered.

"Hard to believe, actually." Fred said bitterly.

"You all right, mate?" Harry asked. Fred nodded yes. Hermione came back with three warm butterbeers.

"Ron's the one who figured out how to handle it best." Hermione said. She took the papers out from under her arm and showed the top one to Fred. The headline read: "Weasley King: Barking or Faking Mad?" Fred skimmed the article. Ron had been spotted in Diagon Alley, pulling flowers out of his trousers and giving them to passerbys. "He wasn't mad then," Harry explained, "Ron got tired of the gossip quick and decided the best retaliation was to confuse them. I think this is the last thing written about him."

Fred grinned. "Brilliant."

"Don't let this get to you, Fred." Hermione said, closing his issue of Witch Weekly. "Go on, look."

Fred sifted through the pile of newspaper articles Hermione handed him; all were clippings of gossip columns. "The Boy Who Lived Choosing to Die?" He questioned.

"I had a difficult time after all the funerals. I had thought only Neville Longbottom and I knew—he saved me, really. I was about to jump off the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts. But it seems someone else must have seen us."

"Hermione the Hermit?"

"I didn't leave Ginny's room at the Burrow until September that year." Hermione admitted. "Even Harry left Grimmauld place before me."

"Angry Granger, that one sounds interesting." Fred noted the next title.

"That's the most recent one." Hermione said. Fred looked at the date. It was only a few weeks before him waking. "I was at the Ministry, interviewing for a job. The man checking wands knew who I was before I handed him mine. He kept asking me questions about the battle, about Gringotts, about Ron and Harry… He asked if everything people say happened at Malfoy Manor did happen…" Hermione sighed heavily. "I stopped seeing the Ministry of Magic and instead saw everything that happened. I shouted curses at everything that moved. They kept me at St. Mungo's for a few days after that."

"Malfoy Manor?" Fred asked.

Harry and Hermione shared a look that was nothing short of a telepathic conversation. They hadn't realized that Fred knew so little of what had happened to them during the war. There was no way he could.

"Perhaps another story for another time." Hermione said uncomfortably.

Fred nodded, but could feel curiosity begin to nibble at his soul


	6. Out of the Sighs

**Hey, readers! Finally getting another chapter up, but I think I've just been avoiding this one...**

 **I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to review/favorite/follow!**

 **-alienoctopus**

Ron was rocked awake by to tossing a turning of his partner. Besides him lie a bushy-haired riot constantly turning the sheets. Ron was thankful she was at least not cursing him.

Hermione did not seem to realize the stress she gave Ron. No—not stress. But it was an immense amount of worry. Ron was not a worrier. He tended to think of things as passing—everything passes. As part of the Golden Trio, he also believed if something didn't pass, he'd have to overcome it. This led Ron to his enlightenment. He was able to sleep through the night without the nightmares that plagued him before. He was able to go into work and not overreact to criminals. Loud noises ceased to bother him. He felt he was ok.

Ron dreamed of a day where everything was peaceful—where he and Hermione could lay in clean linen and not have a worry in the world. As Hermione let out small sighs in her sleep, Ron thought of times he would have waited for her. He thought of all the times Hermione had waited for him. If he were being honest, she had probably waited all seven years at Hogwarts for him to catch up with her. A part of him, a deep dark part in the pit of his stomach thought Hermione might know that he couldn't wait for her like she did for him. She _had_ to know her restlessness was a detriment to him—to her, as well, but Ron was out of ideas. He couldn't calm her.

Merlin, Ron couldn't even console Hermione. Every touch, no matter how warm, inviting, anticipated—she flung herself away from him. His wand would be cast to the floor. Hermione would be staring him down, a spell already on her lips. He would want to scream her name as loud as he could, as if that would pull her out of it, but he had learned from before that screaming got him nowhere. "Hermione," he would whisper, "Hermione, it's me Ron. We are in a home of our own. Everything is fine. Let's get some sleep." He would say this, barely audible, until finally Hermione would burst into tears and run to the kitchen. Ron would not follow, rather, return to bed, where one side ran cold.

Ron's thoughts returned to reality, where Hermione's sleeping frame tossed almost violently. He sighed and put his head back to the pillow in an attempt to find rest.

When sunlight reaching him and forced open his eyelids, Ron went about the morning as he usually would. He woke up, found the bed empty next to him. He laid out clean robes and went to the bathroom to clean himself.

Ron put on his robes—a nice, dark blue with stars on the cuff that actually twinkled. The set was a gift from Bill when Ron was accepted in the Auror department. They were the first pair of robes he owned the actually sat at the correct height. Previous robes would hit him in the knees, or he would trip over the hem. Though they were perhaps a slight too nice to wear to work for an Auror, they were Ron's favorite set of robes. Ron went into the kitchen to see his girlfriend asleep at the table. Underneath Hermione's curls was undoubtedly a copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ , opened at what Ron was sure Hermione would call the best chapter, though she were wont to say that about every chapter. In front of her were torn up bags of chamomile tea dumped next to an empty teacup. He could feel his body burst with the want to kiss her behind her ear and whisper, "Hermione, darling, it's time for work," to wake her. But he knew how that scenario would play out.

"Hermione," he whispered from a safe distance. "Hermione, it's almost time to work." He whispered a few more times until he knew Hermione processed the sounds.

"Thanks, Ron." She said quietly. She closed the book and headed upstairs to dress. Ron cleaned up the tea and got to make breakfast.

"Hermione, it's Ron," he called up the stairs, keeping his voice steady and unthreatening, "Would you like anything for breakfast?" He asked. Before a second passed, Hermione bounded down the stairs. "No thank you, Ron. I've got to go—I promised I'd get there early." Before Ron could even give her a peck on the cheek, Hermione was in the fireplace and at the Ministry.

Normally, Ron would continue in his attempt to make breakfast and be on his way, as well, but today his body felt heavier than normal. He stared at the last spot Hermione stood before she entered the fire and knew what he had to do: write his sister.

 _Ginny,_

 _I think I finally understand how you've been feeling. Can you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron? You need to tell me to stay with Hermione._

Ron signed off the letter and sent it to his sister. He couldn't believe he wrote what he had written—his stomach gurgled at the thought. But somewhere, inside of him, his mind, his heart, his lungs, somewhere he felt that he might be thinking of doing the right thing. He just hoped everyone else would realize it, too.

When Ron arrived at work, he was hoping it would go by quickly. He thought he would look up at the clock and, all of a sudden, it'd be time for him to meet Ginny.

Unfortunately, this was not the case.

"What's this?" Ron asked Harry, who was seated behind a stack of papers almost identical to the stack on Ron's desk. It was a tower that was threatening to fall over, which was no surprise. With the added height of the desk, it was nearly as tall as Ron.

"Paperwork." Harry said. "Death Eaters are constantly trying to appeal, so we have to constantly fill out papers denying them that." Ron could hear the tiredness in his voice. He was willing to bet that Harry had a bad night. The dark circles under Harry's eyes and lethargy in his movements didn't seem to disagree.

Ron sat at his desk and began at the top. He shuffled through the first dozen or so to make sure everything was at least in order. He wished he could just use magic to fill everything out, but if anyone found out, it would be grounds for a retrial, and he didn't want to go through with that. Harry sighed loudly from his chair. The sigh turned quickly into a yawn.

"Rough night?" Ron asked, an attempted casualty in his voice.

"What? Oh. Yeah." Harry answered. His eyes didn't move up from the paper he was looking at

"Ginny said before that you've bee having a lot of them."

"A lot of what?"

"Rough nights." Ron was assured that Ginny was right. "Hermione has them, too. She eventually fell asleep at the kitchen table last night. I don't think she got all that much sleep and then she Floo'd off to work before I could even ask her if she was all right."

Harry nodded. Ron could feel that Harry knew more than he did—that he and Hermione talked about these sorts of things, but they didn't talk to him about them any more. Not since he started to recover. All Ron could do was accept it.

After a few hours silently signing his name, Ron looked at the clock. "I'm going out for lunch. Do you want me to bring you anything back?" He asked Harry. But Harry's head was moving very slowly, clearly on the edge of sleep. "Sounds good, mate." Ron said before he Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

The Leaky Cauldron had changed since the war. Though it was always dark and dingy, once Harry defeated Voldemort for the final time, it was full of life. Wizards and witches, young and old, were they celebrated, cried, laughed; it was a hub of magic. This made it difficult for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to actually enjoy themselves there. They couldn't ever talk about anything, as it would end up in the papers the very next day.

But now, the place that was once vibrating with life and magic became the place it once was: dark, and dingy. It didn't help that Tom, the landlord, was getting just a bit too old to even handle the few customers and tenants he had. He was very much looking forward to selling the place and retiring somewhere nice, bright, and quiet.

The atmosphere of the bar was a good thing to Ron. He knew no one would be there, waiting for him to spill some secret so I could be on the front page of Witch Weekly, not anymore. It was the perfect place to talk with Ginny—who was just walking in.

They sat quietly for a while, and while waiting for some soup and a ploughman's, Ron started to regret asking Ginny here. He knew he'd have to explain himself, and every time he looked up at her, he could see tears threatening in her eyes. Why couldn't he have gone to Bill, or George, or anyone? He was so used to having the tough little sister who played Quidditch and grew up with six older brothers so she didn't cry. Ever. And now she sat in front of him, ready to spill her tears.

"How are you going to tell her?" Ginny asked.

"I dunno." Ron said. "There's no good way to do it."

"Are you sure?" Ginny asked him. "Sometimes I am so sure that I'm going to leave Harry," Ron flinched at the thought of his best friend being hurt like that, "but then I look at him and think of him and know that he's where I'm supposed to be. He just needs more time to figure things out and get better." Ginny started to cry. "Don't you feel the same way about Hermione? I know it's maddening, heartbreaking, awful, but don't you lay with her and know you're home?"

The pit that had been forming in Ron's stomach all morning widened. This was the question he didn't want to be asked. It was the question he didn't want to have the answer to.

"No. Things have changed between Hermione and I." Ginny's spilling tears was getting to Ron. He wanted to join her. "If I were what she needed, she would be happier. We don't even talk anymore. She doesn't even yell at me anymore. We're not the same we were two years ago—we're not the same we were at Hogwarts. I don't think we can be." He admitted. "I love her. I will tell the whole world I love her. But we can't love each other like this any longer. It's not helping."

Fat, sloppy tears dropping into Ginny's split pea soup. She was hurting for herself, for Harry, for her brother, for Hermione. She wanted everyone's hurt to go away. She knew Harry was trying, and he would. She would be better when Harry was. But, as for Ron and Hermione, she couldn't say. She knew Hermione was faring much worse than Harry. Maybe Ron did know what was best. Ginny got a hold of herself.

"What will you do?" She asked though a great sigh.

"I don't know. I haven't thought out any of it. I just know it's wrong to continue on. I'll probably let Hermione keep the flat, she can pay the rent on her own, and I'll move back home for a bit. I dunno. We'll figure it out. It's going to be rough. She's going to hate me."

"Hermione won't hate you forever, you know. You two always work it out somehow.

"And maybe we will. I hope we will. I want her to be happy and ok for once, and then, if I'm lucky, we can try again. But I can't do this anymore. We can't."

Ron moved through the rest of his day like liquid, moving constantly, unable to stop. Harry wasn't talkative, which normally would cause Ron to be concerned or even loud to keep conversation going, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything but work and think. Finally, at the close of day, he assured himself he was making the right decision. He Floo'd home, terrified yet oddly relieved.

He waited on the stairs. Crookshanks walked by him and nipped at his toes. He figured the damn cat knew what was going though his mind. Finally, the fire turned green and Hermione walked out. She looked exhausted. Her robes were disheveled, and her hair, forever a mess, looked bushier than usual. She dusted soot off her robes and looked to the staircase to see Ron.

"Sorry I'm late," she sighed, "it was a long day."

Ron cleared his throat, readying himself for what he was about to do. "Hermione, we need to talk." He stood up and walked into the kitchen and sat at the table, where his girlfriend had fallen asleep that morning.

"What's wrong?"

"I love you, Hermione. I think I always have, and I know I always will. But I can't do this anymore." Ron said quickly. He looked at her, partly to gauge her reaction, but mostly out of fear. This was the woman who had sent a horde of violent birds after him.

Hermione slumped into the chair across from him. "What do you mean?" She asked quietly.

"I want you to get better. I want you to sleep at night and not jump at sounds and hex shadows. I'm not helping you. Maybe I'm holding you back. I dunno, but I don't think you're ready for what I'm ready for."

"What do you mean, what are you ready for?"

"Look around you, Hermione! This place was meant to be home someday, but it isn't. I'm ready to find home, to start a family, things like that, and I can't wait for you to be ready for it, too. At this point, I don't even know if you'd want that with me, or if you're just with me because I'm a reminder of what the world was before."

Hermione looked at Ron without emotion. She didn't know if she wanted to cry or sleep or profess her love. She sighed. "I need to think about this."

"What?"

"We have been working at this since we were eleven, Ronald. I don't know if I want to give it up."

"Maybe we've been working on something that wasn't meant to work out."

More silence. Hermione stood up and filled the kettle, all the while avoiding Ron's questioning gaze. The kettle whistled. She poured the hot water into a teacup. "Tea?" She asked him. "No, thanks." Ron said. She rummaged through the cabinets to find some tea, but all she could find was Ron's. Tears burned her eyes. She let them fall.

"Bloody chamomile!" She shouted. "Always, you always get chamomile and I hate chamomile. But you never think to ask, you never wonder why we have so much bloody chamomile tea, or that I ask you to pick up tea all the time and you never ask what kind or even check, you just always bring home chamomile and I can't stand it."

"Hermi—"

"—Just go!" She yelled at him. She took a breath. "Leave, I—I need to think."

Ron Apparated. He didn't know where he wanted to end up, but he got out of there as soon as she asked.

Hermione was alone.


End file.
